


Neutral Slam Hotel

by Grasshopper_Jungle



Series: YYY fics [1]
Category: Yin Yang Yo!
Genre: Drabble, F/F, F/M, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking, for kicks!, if I were to finish revising the whole thing this would be the only high school au ever needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 23:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10523763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grasshopper_Jungle/pseuds/Grasshopper_Jungle
Summary: A plot twist at prom leads Yang into a pair of unexpected arms. Or is it the other way around?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Two days ago, I sat down at midnight and cranked out twelve pages of Yang/Yuck shenanigans - unfortunately, the majority of it is just dialogue, and I just don't have the time to devote to filling it all out. 
> 
> This is the best part, anyway.
> 
> Sans the homoerotic poetry reading. Oh well. Sacrifices must be made.

She's so beautiful, with the coruscating light turning her hair into a burning fan of purple, blue, magenta. And that dress –

Who's he kidding? The unnecessary boob window in the dress. The slit that bent the dress code as far back as it could go. Still, it was a pretty dress- maybe otherwise a little too formal, but of course Lena would try to walk that fine balance between showing the other sluts they needed to step up their game, whilst still looking classy enough to feel morally superior. That was just the way she was. The way he'd always known her.

And he'd always known her to be attracted to guys. Namely, him.

And not to his sister.

Maybe all of Yin's Lifetime-tier thrillers had a point: how well can you _really_ know the ones closest to you?

I mean, he honestly expects the bucket of pig blood anytime now – something to prove the universe was just betting hard against him, prove he was dreaming or under some kind of mind control again, another of Ferocitus's harebrained schemes. Maybe augmented reality, some Laughing Man shit?

Yin is twirling Lena up a set of cerulean stairs, giggling as she pulls them above the pockets of overheated, overdressed teenagers.

A few of which explode out like bowling pins hit with a wrecking ball.

Yang doesn't need to see the shock of green hair- only the trail of roses along the gymnasium floor, torn petals alight like scattered embers. He has to be ripping his hands open on the thorns, but that doesn't seem to bother Yuck as his spine hits the wall and he slides down to the floor, beheading the last rose with his teeth.

"Tough break, huh?" Yang asks, words capped off by the confusing realization of their lack of schadenfreude. He's definitely in a sim, then. Probably to find out how best to push Cain's buttons this time around.

"I don't know why I even fuckin' bothered," a mutter more for himself.

Yang turns. Yin and Lena haven't even looked down from the new archway, dancing abreast, hips swaying in lock-step to the bouncing rhythm. "Hey –"

Yuck lifts his head off the shotgun barrel, visibly annoyed. _"What?"_

A heartbeat pause. "Well, never mind then, if you're gonna be that way."

"No no, you've already interrupted me; finish what you were gonna say."

"Let's get outta here."

Yuck blinks. "With _you?"_ The shotgun unconsciously lowers, until it would only take out his heart instead of half his face.

"Well, I dunno how much it's worth now, but whenever _I_ brought up having a threesome to Lena, she'd get pissy."

For another heartbeat, Yuck is silent, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips – whatever he wants to say, he swallows, letting out a lungful instead. "I don't know," he finally admits, "if my cuck horns have grown in enough for that."

"Oh, come on—" Yang pushes off the wall – "Ha-Who-Kris-Whatever in July is only a few months away." Pulling out the flask he'd smuggled in from his pocket. "Why not celebrate a little early?"

Yuck looks at Yang's outstretched hand with a mixture of wonder and disgust. His finger taps the trigger, twice, thrice– and then he nearly slams Yang into the ground pulling himself up, the gun loudly skidding across the floor. "Just until midnight – or one of us passes out drunk, whichever comes first."

"Of course, of course. Now –" dare he look back up again, see his sister and (ex)(mother of foo, don't remind me) (this can't be happening) girlfriend jumping back as a stray blast takes out the disco ball, clinging to each other, erupting into peals of laughter as the fixture pounds Dave into the floor and bounces off his head? Dare he watch as they turn towards ea-

"There's a saying we have here in the Orient," Yang proudly announces, materializing a pair of large sunglasses across his eyes with a snap of his fingers. "Translated roughly, it's: "Words can't hurt me, these shades are Gucci." Now let's get outta here."


End file.
